VIII: Born Again
by Baldwin Hart
Summary: With the Sorceresses gone and the world's magic slowly fading away, Squall and the rest must adapt to a world that may no longer need them, on the verge of a war that will shape the future of the planet for years to come.
1. Scars

_**B o o k I**_

_**C h a p t e r I**_

_-_

"**S c a r s **"

_-_

_Awaken yourselves from sleep, my children._

_This is not a cradle._

_Awaken yourselves from sleep, fated children._

_Sleep does not advance._

_Rise up._

_Seek in the garden of truth_

_Burning with the fires of truth_

_Sear with flame the darkness of the world._

_Burning with the fires of truth_

_Kindle to ash the evil of the spirit._

_Be strong, children,_

_on that fated day._

"Stand up." the voice ordered, echoing in his ears as the snow began to fall.

The pain had overtaken him, torn him down to the floor once again. The throbbing gash across his back stained his side a muddy red ochre as he rolled deeper into the pit. Off in the distance, he could vaguely make out the Shumi Village..the faint hope that a SeeD excursion awaited him there strengthened his resolve.

"You think anyone'll believe you? They..they'll know an impostor when they see one. You won't get as far as _Dollet_." he spat, forcing himself up to one knee as the remains of his feathered jacket turned to ash. Beads of sweat mingled with grime and blood across his brow, framing a jagged, gaping wound just above his left eye. His undershirt was little more than a mess of white rags clinging to his withered arms, ripping as he flailed, seeking out the Lionheart.

"I'll get as far as I need to. Who's gonna _stop me_?" came the serpentine hiss of the man that had left him in pieces.

Almasy circled his prey, gunblade dragging in the mud. What was left of Squall Leonhart-- burned, bloodied, and broken --attempted to stand, but could not find the strength to do so. Again, he collapsed into the mud. Again, he lost sight of his gunblade.

"Cid? The _witch-girl_? No, wait-- let me guess.."

He rolled onto his back, desperately reaching for the hilt of his weapon as it sunk deeper into the mud. He felt the cold steel on his fingertips...and then it was lost. Almasy knelt beside him, grazing Squall's ear with Hyperion's edge as he drove it into the ground. Locking eyes with his assailant for a moment, Squall called out a name between labored breaths.

"Ell--"

Unflinching, Seifer drove his palm down, smothering the young SeeD with a frightening indifference to the muffled cries that followed. He felt cartilage tearing as he pushed, and couldn't help but smile. He held until he felt the blood gushing out of the weakened commander's nostrils, and let go.

"She can't help you now, boy. Not here. This is Hell. Angels aren't_welcome_."

Leonhart gasped for air, his face swollen and mangled by the bitter cold and his former classmate's own assault. Almasy watched him squirm for a moment, taking in the sight of his better-- the man that had defeated him that night in Deling, crumbling before the might of power only Seifer was worthy of wielding. A demonic glint in his eye grew into a blazing red inferno, otherworldly flames swirling at his finger tips as he made it quite clear that he wasn't done just yet.

"I want you to _beg_. For your life..or for the girl's. I could break you in half, slit Kramer's throat, and be gone by morning. I'm willing to give you--_them _a chance, however, if you'll only ask of it of me."

Squall struggled to speak, but could say nothing as the flow of blood and mucous turned his every word to labored gasps and drowned screams. Almasy's fingers dug into the boy's hair, pulling him back up to his knees. Standing above the victim, his right hand still tugging on Leonhart's crimson-licked hair, Seifer drew his blade from the dirt. His voice was no longer that of a disillusioned knight, nor of a hollow little boy in search of purpose; it was corruption incarnate. Possessed by the purest, _primal hatred_, he was something else. He was the Sorcerer's vessel...his divine sword of vengeance.

"I want you to know, boy. I want you to know I could've killed you right here." he warned, the Hyperion's white-hot razor edge hanging under Squall's throat as a silent reminder.

"Instead, I offer you life. A chance for renewal. All you have to do is rise, child..and _awaken_."

--

**B-Garden, Infirmary.**

_...awaken...from what?_

"How are you feeling?" she asked, her tone no different than it had been two years ago. He was back in Garden, bandaged up in the Infirmary. Kadowaki approached him, stethoscope pressing firmly against his bare chest before he had a chance to answer.

_How did I get back here again?_

"...okay."

_Seifer...the Sorceress..is this Time Compression?_

"We have to stop meeting like this, 'Commander.' The Headmaster would have a fit if you got trampled _off duty_."

_No. We survived. Ultimecia is gone. This is.._

"I..."

"Hm? Is there something on your mind?"

Giving himself time to allow for his eyes to re-focus, Squall sat up from the all-too-familiar bed, wincing as the stitches in his side made themselves known.

"What happened?" he asked, as Kadowaki brandished a silver-plated auriscope, inspecting his left ear with some degree of concern.

"You don't remember? Ah, well. I should've known. That spiky-haired friend of yours brought a _T-board into_ the Training Center. From what I heard from the students, you took a nasty spill when he got swiped by a T-Rexaur you were fighting. You took quite a bump to the head, too."

_Figures. What a moron._

"We have a meeting with the Galbadian delegation today. I have to go."

"Hold on a moment! You might have a contusion. We'll have to run some tests before I let you go."

"No time," he said through clenched teeth, straining to pull himself up to his feet by the window sill adjacent to his bed. "Use magic."

"Magic isn't the answer, Squall. You know as well as I do..it tends to leave a _mark_." she warned, shifting her gaze to the scar across his face. Years later, it remained, a constant reminder of that day by the Fire Cavern. He had dealt a similar wound to the man he would later fight for reasons other than pride-- to save Galbadia, to save the world..to save Rinoa. It'd been two years since he'd last seen Seifer Almasy..at least, in the flesh.

"I had the dream again." he muttered, surrendering himself to the care of Dr. Kadowaki. Maybe rest would do him some good. The Headmaster could tackle this one on his own.

"That may be a sign of severe head trauma. Say your name for me."

"..."

"..well, so_ far _so good."

--

_**S.S. Great Deling**_** aircraft carrier, docked at Cactuar Island. **

_I'm already awake._

He was late today. Colonel Henry Lyon had always had _some kind_ of sway in the governing party. His was a legacy of unquestionable service-- from his grandfather to his father, from uncles to cousins, all had served to further whatever goal Galbadia had asked of them. He was, more than any, secure in his position as another hero of the mighty G-Army. It was _through_ this secured position, in fact, that he had acquired a private hearing with President Mesa's military advisers.

The defense council had more or less granted the first President of 'New Galbadia' free reign over all major military contracts after General Caraway's resignation; reconstruction and refurbishing of old field units had been proposed as a way to expand the G-Army's mobility and attack power after a powerful anti-Sorceress movement swept the nation. Mesa had initially pushed for limited production of the newer high-performance X-ATM models and Flying Frames, stressing quality over quantity, but Lyon knew the truth. Mesa was afraid. He did not hold the same sway as Deling had, and Galbadia as a whole had been suffering severe issues with border control and political dissenters (particularly in Timber) since the last Lunar Cry.

It wasn't too complicated for Henry; he saw soldiers for what they were, and recognized their offensive potential, but didn't look to make every soldier into some kind of super-commando, like the SeeDs seemed to think they were. It just wasn't realistic...which was exactly what he'd been trying to convince the rest of the President's council of since his return. Desperate to regain control of the situation, President Mesa had come to depend on the mercenary force almost as an extension of Galbadia's new peace corps, and even personally requested a SeeD security detail to escort Colonel Lyon to Dollet for what would be the last of their trade summits. Most believed a peaceful compromise over control of the satellite relay station was inevitable, but the Colonel knew better: the SeeD would never _truly_ pursue peace as long as international conflict remained their primary source of revenue. Keeping that station in contention meant the Gardens would be well-funded for years to come. Fortunately, his colleagues in power had begun to see things his way, and were preparing accordingly.

"Dane Corporation and G-Tech have each completed Phase One of our re-arming plan, Colonel." buzzed a diminutive Timber-born accountant in the corner. "Total costs for the media campaign are an estimated twenty thou--"

"_Thank you_, Mr. Smythe, but I don't want to hear about cost figures for posters. I'd like more..._relevant numbers_? Mr. Dugan?"

"Aye. These are the construction notes for the GIM60." the bulky bowler hat-sporting adviser grunted, handing over a bound manual of sorts. Lyon turned the laminated cover page gingerly, eyes lighting up as he opened the manual up to the system specifications.

"G-Tech modeled these after the data recovered from Esthar's M8 prototype, focused on a more cost-effective production model."

"I see that...minimal armor...AI core's more streamlined than the old models. Simple interface. Easy to train with. Minimal weaponry, though...and what is this, a _battery_?"

"High yield capacitors replaced the standard reactor core in our new models, sir. Cuts costs by fifty-three percent. Rechargeable on-base or aboard our carriers."

"This look...doesn't seem too intimidating. Maybe a few aesthetic changes...mess around with the head a little...and Dane Corporation? What's the status on the ships?"

"Aye, the prototype escort vessels...I believe you saw the presentation last week?"

"Yes...not much has changed, I imagine, then. When can we expect the first group to join our fleet?"

"The crews are filling up as we speak, sir. The Drakes will be present to move and unload the re-assigned paratrooper units to the coast."

"And what of the renovation project?"

"We recovered components of the test craft from the Centra ruins. It is being reconstructed and re-christened as we speak. All cargo areas have been optimized for cycle trooper deployment. We had to dig up records from the War just to find the_ dimensions _for its holds. It will be completed in time to ship the new Vinzer Battalion to the Dollet border, alongside the new Iron Clad production line."

"_Perfect_. Now, Phase Two can--"

A sudden sweep of frigid air cut the Colonel's response short, a phantom's breath bearing down on him. He felt a presence, beyond the accountants and councilmen sitting at the conference table before him. The chill became an almost painful warmth, growing hotter against his skin as if the very sun were focused on him alone.

_It's time, boy. The clock is ticking._

"...oh. Oh, excuse me, it seems I've lost track of time."

The throbbing heat focused at the back of his head, concentrating into a sharp, stabbing pain until the Colonel simply could not take it anymore.

_GET OUT OF MY HEAD._

"I... I have a meeting in Balamb. I must be going."

_Not just yet, child._

"Good day to you all." he finished, and returned to the deck to await his transport..

--

**Garden, Training Center.**

_I don't want to wake up._

It was like the old days again. Kinneas strutted into the main combat area with a smile on his face, grinning ear to ear as he interrupted a trainee class' second group skirmish that day by walking right through their battle zone. Making his way through the rebuilt chamber, designed to simulate an authentic war zone, the struggling trainees' conversation caught his ear.

"Hey, weren't we starting para-magic demonstrations today?"

"No, dummy, Instructor Zindel is doing field exams all week. We've got subs until she gets back from the ruins."

"Man, what a gyp! All the cool kids get to field on Centra while we sit around here and kick Grats around all day."

"Yeah. I heard only eight people from all three senior classes qualified for the exam this time around. I wonder how many will pass."

"Oh, yeah. Failure rate's only gotten higher since the Cry."

"I heard that Dezo is taking it this time.."

Irvine was nothing but sunshine and happy days, his playful swagger now a bouncing trot across a makeshift bridge linking the rest of the grounds to a grassy knoll by the center limits. Joker sat there, hunched under a palm tree counting cards until the trench coat-sporting deviant made his presence known.

"Heya! Long time no see! Wanna play some some cards?"

"No thanks. Have you seen Selphie anywhere?"

"Who?"

"Selphie. Selphie _Tilmitt_? She's a SeeD, runs the Festival Commi--"

"Oh, the _crazy girl_! She's over in the Quad setting up for the Festival."

--

**Garden, Quad.**

"Here?"

"Um..a little more to right."

"Is this okay?"

"No, too much!"

"..how about now?"

"Too low!!"

Perhaps it was guilt-- Zell had mucked up Squall's group lecture in the Training Center, and was making up for it _here_ instead of Ochu hunting with the junior students. Perhaps he'd simply felt sorry for poor Selphie Tilmitt, working alone today as the rest of her meager Festival Committee held a fundraiser in Balamb. In any case, he'd spent the last six hours after the accident hanging up banners around the school, starting with the classrooms (after some convincing that it wouldn't get him suspended) and ending up here, again, on the main stage. The last few had gone up fairly easily, but this one was proving to be a problem. Selphie Tilmitt had a keen eye for decoration, meaning Zell would be staying up on that ladder, clinging to the bottom of the catwalk, for as long as she deemed necessary.

"It looks straight to me."

"Not even close!"

"Are you_ serious_?"

"This is my last year as head of the Committee, Zell! It has to be..._perfect!_"

"We're two weeks from winter break!"

"Planning ahead never hurt anyone!"

"You're crazy, y'know that?"

It _had_ to be guilt.

--

**Garden, Infirmary.**

"I knew it'd either be you or Zell."

_This again?_

Squall rose to his feet with some difficulty, though he showed marked improvement over his last attempt at leaving the bed. A wheeze escaped his tired lungs as he met Quistis halfway, dragging himself toward the door. Gesturing to his SeeD jacket and equipment sprawled out on a desk by the entrance, he attempted to speak, but found himself unable to ask for his things. Almost in pity, Trepe retrieved his clothing and gun belt, the heavenly blue sheen of the Lionheart's blade catching the light from the window as she handed the weapon over.

"The meeting's today. You promised Cid you'd go."

_No. Not the same. We're different now. _

"...I know. Come on, let's go before Kadowaki comes back."

The walk to the hall was long and surprisingly taxing, as Squall refused the older SeeD's help even as the weight of his weapon wore away what little stamina he had. His hair was sweaty and matted down, framing his sickly pallor with messy swirls of dampened brown locks. As field commander, he was expected to be on hand whenever the Headmaster called-- injuries or no, he would be there. Kadowaki had convinced him to let the wounds heal up naturally, but so far he'd done little more than regret not simply casting a Cura on himself.

"Squall. Is there something on your mind?" Quistis asked, sounding almost forced as she recalled that quickly-fading memory of the boy nursing a scar in her classroom.

_...not really._

"It's the field exam. First one I won't be supervising since I came back."

"Does it really mean that much to you?"

_Let's talk when it's all done._

Squall picked up the pace, one hand on his gunblade and belt, the other against the wall for support as they reached the end of the hall. Taking a breath, he pressed on, into the open Garden Center, the front gate his final destination.

"It's my job. I should never have abandoned my duties to begin with."

"I don't think this solves anything, Squall. Laguna would--"

_I have a lot to tell you..._

He winced at the name, stopping in his tracks as Quistis found herself almost covering her mouth in embarrassment. There was a long, dead silence around them, as if the stare he shot her way before turning his gaze to the floor had been enough to freeze _every_ SeeD in place, rooting their very feet to the ground. He let out a quiet sigh, and hugged his side. The stitches were coming loose again. Seemed like he'd be getting those scars after all.

"Squall, I'm sorry. I-- it was just..it slip--"

"I'll go alone." he said, and was off, limping away to the Garden gates. She followed him halfway, but no further as he walked even faster, the warm dampness of his re-opened cuts making his march an agonizing trek from the gates to the waiting car outside.

_Always alone._

--

**AN: I own only this story; characters, setting, and accompanying music belong to a bunch of significantly more successful Japanese folk. The beginning of my prologue piece is a translation of "Liberi Fatali" from the original game. Feedback is appreciated.**


	2. A Game Of Cards

****

C h a p t e r II

__

-

"**A G a m e o f C a r d s** "

__

-

--

****

Balamb.

Secure in the back, Squall said nothing to his driver, nor to the SeeD escort at his side. They were both young men, fresh from graduation. The last batch of graduates had seen a dramatic decrease in traditional combat roles-- machine guns, guided weapons, all focused on a distinctively ranged infantry mindset. No gunblade experts. Not even a _swordsman_.

While he saw and understood the need for capable ranged combatants, Squall felt something akin to disappointment in the rapid change; a reliance on technology, after all, led to increasingly rare GF and para-magic activity and training. Slowly but surely, they were becoming Galbadia all over again.

Perhaps this was a _good_ thing, however. While an understanding of the mystical side of things was required to combat the Sorceresses, a new age of SeeD as general peacekeepers would require more practical solutions rather than magical ones. Truth be told, Squall had just about resigned himself to living the rest of his life in a mundane world of machines, content without the threat of nightmarish creatures haunting his every waking hour.

__

Still, he mused, _I almost miss it_.

"Are you all right, sir?" his rifle-wielding escort asked, grinning despite his obvious discomfort, clad in an armored, helm-bearing variant of the standard battle uniform, akin to a G-Soldier. Squall shrugged, feeling the fresh scar tissue along his side tighten as he did so. The Cura had done the job quick, but he could never get used to the sting.

"I'm fine. Just thinking."

"I'm a little nervous, myself. This is my first mission since I came back from FH, and.."

"Hm?"

"..oh, it's nothing.."

"What is it?"

"...it's just that, well, it's _you_. I never thought I'd be on a mission with Squall Leonhart in a million_ years_."

"...?"

"You're like, the champion of the old guard, man! You're _the_ SeeD."

__

Old guard?

"It's only been two years.."

"Well, yeah, but most of us will _never_ see the kind of action you guys got during the Cry and everything. You're living legends!"

He wanted to slap him. He wanted to tell the kid to be grateful he'd never have to see not one, but _three_ Sorceresses lay waste to the planet. He wanted to tell him about the sleepless nights, the flashbacks-- Deling City, the cold touch of death crawling up through his shoulder. He restrained himself, however, allowing himself a disparaging hiss. He curled his fists in his lap-- a quiet suggestion to his colleague to drop the subject.

"It wasn't worth it."

He would save those stories for another day.

--

****

B-Garden, Headmaster's Office.

Quistis' lift stopped at the top floor, her feet gingerly floating her out of the elevator and into the main office. The heart of Garden had undergone a few changes since the transformation-- mostly aesthetic alterations to make the transition to the shelter's hover mode less traumatizing on the furniture. Gone was the Headmaster's desk, replaced with a recently-installed command console to circumvent the perilous trip to Garden's lower levels. Usually supervised by at least one faculty member, the station had seemingly been abandoned by the SeeD crews-- a lull in the shift switches, maybe?

"I was told you wanted to see me..."

The Headmaster paced beyond the control module, his shirt sleeves rolled up to just above his elbows, his sweaty palms locked into each other behind his back. He looked worn, tired of the countless deals he'd had to strike over the last few days just to arrange the Dollet/Galbadia meeting he wouldn't get the chance to oversee himself. His familiar vest was ragged, wrinkled and unbuttoned, his inner shirt moist with perspiration.

"Are you all right, Headmaster?" she asked, unable to deter her gaze from beads of sweat running down his cheek.

"Ah, Quistis...yes, yes. I'm fine." he lied.

"What did you want to see me about, sir?"

"You're aware of the Centra trial underway?"

"The last SeeD candidates, yes. Have they returned yet?"

He continued to pace, making his way to the front of his office, his eyes still dodging contact with Trepe's own as he moved his hands from his back to his vest pockets.

"...no, I'm afraid not. We lost contact with both teams and their supervising instructors some eight hours ago. I've instructed Nida and his crew to remain on standby for full mobilization."

"We've _lost_ them? How?"

"The Centra trial was initially a joint operation between SeeD and the G-Army; we were to engage and apprehend former Dollet soldiers involved in an assassination plot against the new President."

Finally slowing his march, he came to a stop in front of her, hands stuffed deep into his pockets as he stared at her through thick-rimmed glasses. He was beginning to feel the hindrance of age working through him, making him weak.

Squall had relinquished control of Garden in the hopes that his predecessor could adapt the SeeD to a new purpose in the coming time of peace, but with each passing day, the older, weary Cid Kramer was beginning to believe he would not live to see that day. Many had noticed the steady decline in his health-- too quick, too sudden to be natural. He was sick, but no one spoke of it. Even with Edea at his side, he could not handle the burden of SeeD for much longer.

"Xu's recon teams confirmed them as members of Blue Heaven, a Sorceress-worshipping cult utilizing the Centra ruins as a staging area for their planned 'invasion' of Deling City."

Quistis had a vague recollection of the Blue Heaven group-- they'd seen evidence of them long before the Cry, but they were little more than orphaned delinquents back then. In recent years, they'd expanded into a kind of pirate organization, preying on anyone brave or foolish enough to cross them. Even the White SeeDs had felt their wrath in the past few months. Why, then, she wondered, had they not acted sooner? It was about _time_ they went after those crazed extremists-- and with more than just a few _cadet teams_.

"So there are still Galbadian operatives there! Can't we contact _them_?"

"No, Quistis. The G-Army pulled out of the operation, protesting our moderation of their ceasefire discussions with the Dollet Dukedom. Instructors Zindel and Barret agreed to continue with the operation as planned, using the remaining SeeD cadets as frontline troops for a full-on assault on Blue Heaven's headquarters. They each took a team of four."

She recalled meeting Cait Zindel at the last graduation ball. Formerly of Trabia, she'd taken quite nicely to life at Balamb; nearly every student of hers since her arrival passed their field exam on their first try. With the increase in monster activity following the last Cry two summers ago, she'd been the only instructor able to keep such a spotless record, something that garnered a great deal of respect from the older Garden faculty. One of her latest students was even being called 'the next Squall Leonhart', of all things.

"I don't understand. Why didn't you tell Squall about any of this before he agreed to take part in the meeting with the Galbadian delegates? We could've addressed this with them in person--"

"I..I didn't want him to find out.."

"What? Is something wrong?"

Cid stroked the bridge of his nose, sifting through the clutter in his mind to find words to express the delicate situation he'd been tasked with resolving. This was no routine mission, it seemed-- their first expedition to Centra since Edea's recovery was thought to be cursed from the start, and this certainly seemed to imply there was some truth to that belief. Trepe bit her lip in anticipation of his next sentence.

"Blue Heaven. We've identified the chief conspirators."

"Who...?"

"Mostly felons and war criminals, but there were a few unconfirmed names on the list of expatriates assisting in their militarization. The primary supplier has been already been identified: Heartilly."

"No.."

"I'm afraid so, Quistis. Rinoa Heartilly has become a liability."

--

****

Balamb.

"We're moving a little slow, aren't we?"

"Waiting for clearance to enter Balamb, sir. We're about a kilometer away."

The rest of the ride had been a quiet one, as Squall actively snuffed out any attempt at small talk with a grunt or a loud and telling cough. He'd learned the escort's name-- Dyson Taggert, a status magic specialist, Rank 5 --and kept it at that. His driver was an older operative, a twenty-something by the name of Zagat. He remembered him from the Dollet field exam, one of the older SeeDs supervising the beach advance.

"SeeD PCV One, requesting clearance to enter town square." he buzzed over the new radio communicator. With Adel gone, radio waves had once again become a viable method of data transmission, and the town of Balamb was one of the first to benefit from it. Trains, rental cars, and fishing boats had all been outfitted with some manner of radio device, and the small, developing SeeD police force stationed there had set up their own relay station on the outskirts of town. Today, however, it seemed they were lax in their preparations.

"I repeat, this is SeeD PCV One. Do you copy?"

"What's the matter?" Squall asked, tensing as a chill ran down his spine. He looked over to his escort, catching his eye as the younger SeeD let out a shiver. The air grew cold, chilled by some invisible current running through the wind outside.

"Don't know. I think the radio might be on the fritz. I'm not getting a response."

"J-just try again!" the escort begged, teeth chattering in between words. It was getting colder by the minute.

"Stop the car." Squall ordered, securing the Lionheart. There was nothing yet, but he could feel that familiar ache in his arms, begging for release. He _wanted_ to fight. He needed it, Hyne help him.

"It's all right, sir. I think we've just run into a cold front. Once we get clear of the shore and reach the gates--"

He didn't trust it. His first few months as a SeeD had been more than enough to hone his instincts, and those same instincts were now telling him not to push his luck. He could hear the car straining, gears wearing down as its internal components began to freeze over. He could taste the condensation in the air, building up along the inside of the carrier, dripping to the floor…

Moisture pooled at Squall's feet, and he knew then it was an ambush.

The puddles froze, and he knew the car wouldn't stop. His ears tuned the screams of his driver and fellow passenger out as the carrier flipped, propelled by the force of a massive ice dagger tearing through the side of the vehicle like a knife through a paper plate. He didn't even hear the hiss of the carrier's pressurized fuel tank bursting from the impact, spewing volatile gas into the air around them.

SeeD PCV One had tumbled off of the road to Balamb, launched by the giant frozen dart into a clearing twenty meters from the sandy island shore. Leonhart smashed shoulder-first into the intact side of the car, dropping his weapon in the confusion. He could hear her-- the attacker applauded with a loud and impish giggle as she approached the wreck, surely intent on finishing the job. Opening his eyes, Squall assessed the situation as best he could, rolling onto his back. The car was on its side; Zagat was crushed behind the wheel, probably dead on impact. Dyson was pinned beneath part of the collapsed ceiling next to him, and his gunblade was lodged into a mass of hydraulic tubing under the floor, just out of reach. He was maybe within walking distance of the gates, if he could make a run for it...she spoke.

"I think I might've overdone it a bit, yeah?"

His back against the new 'floor', he immediately tried to right himself and reach for his weapon. Working his way up to his feet, however, he found it increasingly hard to focus-- _a concussion_, he noted mentally, and stumbled, falling back against the hard steel of the armored car's innards. The blue sheen of Lionheart's blade was his only reference, his senses slowly dulling as the pain set in. Only then, dazed and struggling to climb back up to his weapon, did he realize it wasn't a concussion at all.

It was a _spell_.

"Are you okay in there, Mister Squall?"

The Blizzara spike melted away, and she hopped onto the wreck, peering down the hole to the Confused pair within. Dyson moaned, muttering something between labored breaths, and was gone, unconscious and useless as far as Leonhart was concerned. One hostile, two bodies to drag out of the wreck--a tactical disadvantage from the start. It was getting harder to think or see straight, but he could make _her_ out, at least. It was strange; he wasn't sure if it was the spell, or just his own delusion, but if not for the familiar red and black of the G-Garden uniform, he could almost _swear_ she looked just like..like _Selphie_.

"_Who are you?_" he asked through the haze, his hand finding the Lionheart's grip after a few moments of blind probing. Tugging on the gunblade, he felt the light touch of _cards _fluttering down from above. She giggled again, and as the daze of the girl's spell began to wear off, he drew Lionheart from the shredded metal.

"Tell me who you are!" he demanded, his eyes drifting from his six full chambers to her face-- a darker-haired, sickly reflection of Selphie Tilmitt. She was not real. She was _not_ Selphie, and if she didn't answer, she'd be as dead as the _last_ person to cross his blade.

"Don't be angry! My name's Traline. You wanna play some cards?"

But Squall's answer did not come. He watched her, quietly observing the way she chuckled every other word, tilting her head as she waited on a response. He watched her flip those cards down into the wreck-- Triple Triad cards.

__

Glacial Eyes.

The air was getting cold again.

"Well, do ya?"

Taking the Lionheart in his right hand, he reached out to her with his left, and his open palm greeted Traline with the white-hot glow of a Flare spell; drawing strength from his Guardian, he answered with the strength of an exploding sun.

"_No_."

--

****

B-Garden, Quad.

"Selphie? Selphie, I'm back!"

Nothing. Not a soul anywhere. Irvine Kinneas was beginning to think he'd come all this way for nothing. They'd all thought he was a little batty after jumping ship on the SeeD training for a Shumi Village retreat. He'd promised himself, after that Sorceress business, that he'd try and make something of himself. He wanted to come back to their Garden, to Selphie, as a man, not the frightened, lonely boy he'd been years before. The GFs had granted him the chance, at least, to replace their old memories of little Irvine with those of today-- those of a man ready to dedicate his life to a pursuit of spiritual peace. After all, they'd always have old knucklehead Zell to poke fun at.

He made his way down to the stage area, marveling at the sight of the massive new set up. It _amazed_ him what this girl could do with aluminum pipes and weighted sandbags. Hopping up on stage, he hoped to get a better view of the Quad from higher ground...and again, nothing. Sighing, he looked up at the sky; rain clouds had crept in from beyond the horizon, blocking out the setting sun. _No, wait_, he thought to himself, catching a flash of reddish yellow out of the corner of his eye, _there it is_.

__

Setting a little early today.

"So much for a welcome party.."


	3. Champions Of The Old Guard

**Chapter III**

**"Champions Of The Old Guard"**

**B-Garden, Third Floor.**

It wouldn't be long, now. Quistis and her team were en route to the Centra Ruins where they would almost certainly find dead SeeDs. If their intelligence was correct, they'd also find the core of the Blue Heaven leadership - Rinoa Heartilly included. Sitting in what remained of his office just below the Garden bridge, watching through the windows as the contrails of the departing Ragnarok ripped clouds in half, Headmaster Cid wondered how far Trepe and the others would go to accomplish the mission. Dincht and Tilmitt were shocked, to say the least, when he briefed them at the Garden gates - Rinoa had been their friend, and for a time even a comrade-in-arms. They suffered through the Timber invasion, capture at Deling City, and the horrors of Time Compression - all together. All as a family.

And yet, Quistis' hesitation seemed to disappear almost immediately - a front, he assumed, to reassure her friends that they were in the right. Were Zell and Selphie as dedicated, though? Would they go so far as to kill Rinoa to save their fellow SeeDs?

"Ah! Headmaster! Finally, a face I recognize!"

Even through the hiss of the elevator bringing him up, Irvine Kinneas' voice rang clear and true, full of the same youthful vigor as when he left to live among the Shumi. He'd done away with the long coat and cowboy hat, however, and the months spent toiling underground had hardened his boyish features into the face of a man that knew who he wanted to be. Still wore those damned chaps, though.

"Mister Kinneas. I heard you were returning, but I didn't expect it to be so soon."

"A year feels like twenty when you're wrestling moombas for a Water Stone every other day. So where is everyone? I know Squall was meeting with those Galbadian officers in Balamb - "

Cid narrowed his eyes, straightened up and glanced at the elevator. "I'm afraid it's classified, Irvine. SeeDs only. Just like this room."

Irvine chuckled, but the laughter quickly faded when Cid took him by the shoulder and walked him back to the lift.

"H-Hey...come on, Cid. This isn't funny."

"No, it _isn't_. It's a waste of my time. Now, I'm sorry, but I have business to attend to. If you'd like to wait for your friends downstairs, I can arrange..."

Wrestling Irvine into the elevator, Cid nearly missed it - a squeal in the distance, and a deep rumble. The 'setting sun' Irvine had seen earlier expanded and engulfed the horizon south of the Garden - an _explosion_.

"What the hell was that?" Kinneas shrieked as he fought free of Cid's hold. The elevator shot down empty, and came up filled to capacity by Nida and his bridge crew.

"Helmsman reporting, sir!"

Legs unsteady, Cid grabbed at a hand rail and tried to collect himself. "Nida. Uh...take the helm. Evasive maneuvers. Get me a status report from Balamb and have medivac teams ready to move out."

"Aye, sir! You heard him, cadets - man your stations!"

As Nida's men swarmed the command center, Irvine saw the man he once thought of as a father slink down to the floor, panicked. The Headmaster always had Xu, Nida, or Squall to handle intense situations like this, and Kinneas was beginning to see why.

"Squall!" he remembered, rushing back to the elevator. _Squall was meeting the Galbadians in Balamb today._

"Nida! I'm taking a car!"

The helmsman turned away from his instruments for a second and shot Irvine a look of surprise mixed with a newfound authoritative snobbishness.

"K-Kinneas? You're not authorized to - "

"Ah, shove it, Nida! I'm going!"

By the time Nida thought of an appropriate retort, Irvine was halfway down the hall into the garage.

**Ragnarok, Passenger Room.**

"Is everyone clear on the mission parameters?"

Quistis Trepe may have given up her Instructor position, but she still possessed a gift for public speaking, and it was hard for her to not turn every mission briefing into a full affair, charts and all. She'd personnaly mapped out their approach, drop point, suggested magic stocks...all without mentioning their target by name. Selphie, Zell, and even the younger support crew tasked with setting up a communications relay on the surface knew they were probably going to confront Rinoa Heartilly, and if the situation escalated, she would have to die - but that didn't stop Quistis from glossing over it every chance she got.

Zell was the first to speak up. "What kinda resistance are we expecting, exactly? These guys are just amateurs, right? Like in Tim..ber."

Sour note. The room grew uncomfortable for Zell Dincht as he immediately wished he'd kept that last comment to himself.

"No, Zell. According to Xu's reports, Blue Heaven is mostly comprised of Dolletian ex-military, but recent excursions suggest they may have gotten their hands on a stolen weapons cache."

"Galbadian?" asked Selphie, actively taking notes to tailor her stock of spells.

"Possible. Their...their leader certainly has the connections necessary to acquire Galbadians mechs and the like. Whatever they have, it was enough to take down eight SeeD candidates and two full-blown operatives."

Zell grunted disapprovingly, delivering a now-trademarked blow to the hardened steel floor. "We don't know that for sure! They might still be alive!"

"We have to assume they're at least out of commission for now, Zell." Selphie chirped, looking up from her datapad only to note the terrain visible through the massive viewscreen.

"Selphie's right. We'll be the only combat forces on the ground. Pilo and his team will follow us down and set up a forward command post on one of the cliffs overlooking the ruins."

"What about the ship?" Zell wondered, regretting he'd forgotten to stock any Float spells.

"We can't risk landing her anywhere they can spot us, so she'll stay airborne. The Ragnarok will secure Centran airspace and maintain radio silence until contacted by Pilo's team for pickup."

Pilo, a stock little bald fellow with about a decade's worth of SeeD experience under his belt, was the resident artillery expert. He was a Fighter-class, but no one could remember ever seeing him without a string of grenades dangling from his belt. No one could remember him ever casting anything stronger than a Sleep spell, either, so tasking him with monitoring radio traffic was probably for the best. His backup was a five-year rifleman and a spearman fresh out of training - not an ideal field team, but all Quistis could muster in the timeframe. Still, Pilo seemed confident in his abilities, and bravado was better than nothing.

"I don't see why we gotta hang back, Commander Trepe. If these guys could take out two whole teams, you need all the help you can get with the rescue!"

"Two teams of cadets, Pilo. Inexperienced, scared...hardly combat-worthy. We're different."

"Yeah," Zell chimed in, amused by the small man's eagerness, "you guys just consider yourselves Plan B."

**Road to Balamb.**

In just over thirteen months, Irvine had pretty much forgotten how to drive. Bouncing about in the SeeD truck, he pureed one or two bitebugs before he managed to pull himself back onto the road. Nida was no doubt still waiting on reports from the town to come in over the radios, but even now, half a kilometer out from the town, the truck's CB was getting nothing but static.

"Damn it, Squall, would it kill you to wait a whole day after I come back to get yourself blown up?"

The closer he got to the crater that had swallowed the road outside of Balamb, the less he thought he'd find his old commander sitting there, atop a dead Ruby Dragon, scraping the guts off of his gunblade. Sure enough, at the edge of the two hundred meter hole in the ground, all he found was the molten remains of a private command vehicle - Squall's personal escort.

"Oh, no...oh, no..."

Practically launching himself out of the car, Irvine swept through his mental cache of leftover spells for something to extinguish the flames.

"Water!"

The hot metal shrieked as the mass of liquid fell upon it, evaporating in an instant and covering the area in a thick, steamy fog. Making his way to the center of the crater, Irvine could just barely make out the gutted center of the car, and a human figure dragging itself through the wreckage.

"Help me! Oh, Hyne, help me!"

Dyson Taggart looked up from his agony, writhing with broken legs and ribs, and saw his savior extend a helping hand.

"Help...help me, please..."

"What happened?"

"Help..."

"What's going on, soldier? Who did this to you?"

"A girl...it was a girl. She...took the Commander..."

Irvine was too swept up in helping the man to notice the fog dissipating, too distracted by the chain of Curas and Esunas he was casting to feel Traline limp up to them, Triple Triad cards fluttering in the wind... wiping the soot and blood from her face, she grinned and drew another Glacial Eye card, preparing a Blizzara spell to subdue the new -

"Not so fast."

Stunned was the only expression she could manage, as the Exeter shotgun ripped through her silly cards with a deafening blast. Hyper-aware of his surroundings thanks to his Cerberus junction, Irvine had executed a counter-attack so perfect even a SeeD would have been dead on arrival - had the shot connected. Instead, the pellets floated there, frozen in mid-air centimeters from young Traline's nose.

"Ooh. You're good."

Had he not been struck by a Stop spell, he would've followed-up with an armor-piercing shot. He relaxed his body, but it did not give, stuck in an attack stance, shotgun in one hand, Dyson's collar in the other. Traline's eyes twinkled as she took him in, reminding him of someone...someone else...but then it was gone. She turned her focus to someone just to his right, approaching from behind.

"...but she's better. Thanks for the save, matron! Didn't even touch me this time."

"You would've been fine the first time if you hadn't moved around so much, Traline." answered the painfully familiar voice beside him. Straining under the spell's power, he turned his eyes to meet hers, and confirmed his fears: he'd been trapped by a Sorceress.

"_Rinoa_...?"


	4. Combat Worthy

**Chapter IV**

**"Combat Worthy"**

**Ragnarok, Boarding Ramp.**

Selphie anxiously twisted her nunchaku, wincing with every clumsy maneuver the Ragnarok's new pilot performed as they neared the drop point. She missed the days when it was just the six of them, flying wherever they pleased, catching Chocobos, looking for the Queen of Cards...

"Gear up, people! We've got two minutes to the drop point!"

Quistis was returning from the cockpit, having briefed the gunner on emergency protocols - should they fall, the crew was authorized to saturate the area with laser fire until everything stopped moving - Tonberrys included. Zell, Selphie, and the backup crew were all taking sensor equipment with them, and planned a slow descent using Aero spells - except for Pilo. Nervous at the thought of relying on nothing more than his magic skill to survive the drop, Zell lent him his T-board to help stabilize his descent.

Strapping on the backpack that carried their radio transmitter, Zell gave Quistis a thumbs up and hit the ramp switch.

Field Commander Trepe, like the rest, wore her modified SeeD uniform, now fitted with light armor plating instead of the more aesthetically-pleasing high collars and gold trim. Whip wound around her waist, she clipped a thermal scanner onto her boot and ran down the boarding ramp as it swung open to reveal the Centra plains below. Leading the dive, Quistis spread her arms and flew out of the Ragnarok, propelled by her feet and the natural winds for as long as she could manage. Joined by the rest soon after, they coasted across the sky until coming up on the target cliff, and began the barrage of safety spells.

"Triple-Protect!"

"Triple-Float!"

"Aero!"

"Aero!"

"Aer-"

Quistis danced between gusts, using Float and Aero to redirect her momentum from a fall into a full-on run, and landed perfectly mid-stride atop a nearby plateau. Zell and Selphie's descents were less elegant, but efficient, as the pair dropped ahead of Quistis by a good thirty meters. Pilo skidded to a halt beside them, trashing the turbine board to Zell's dismay.

"Aw, damn! I just got that fixed, Pilo."

"I'm sorry! It's these gusts! By Hyne, it's like the damn wind is possessed!"

"Duh - we were using _wind magic_." Selphie chirped, bringing up their position on her datapad.

"No, he has a point." Quistis admitted, taking a quick thermal reading. "Aero aside, there's something else at work here. Something resisting our magics. A defense screen."

"Who needs it? Let's just get down there and find Rinoa!"

Despite his remarkable progess in the years since the Centran orphans reunited, Zell Dincht remained the most...difficult member of the group other than Squall. Unable, or unwilling, to control his emotional outbursts would have earned him a Fail on the SeeD trials under any normal circumstances. Fortunately, SeeDs weren't typically hired under normal circumstances, and his zeal had served him well on many a mission...but here, now, it seemed out of place.

"We shouldn't hope for much, Zell. If I'm right and there is some kind of anti-magic field at work here, then Rin- the _Sorceress _is probably able to track us within it."

"No magic, then?" Selphie asked, her meticulously-planned casting strategy rendered moot.

"Not until we find Blue Heaven. How close are we, Selphie?"

"The map has us twenty kilometers south of an old waystation. It's likely they've set up a surveillance post there. That's what I'd do, anyway."

If there had been a time before Adel, before Ultimecia, when Selphie Tilmitt's tactical assessments were treated as anything other than the word of Hyne himself, the world had forgotten it. Second only to Xu in her combat theory expertise, Selphie had made a name for herself applying the same quick, effective decision-making skills from her Garden Festival days to the battlefield.

"Very well. We'll approach the waystation to the north on foot. Pilo, station your team on low ground to avoid detection. Do not radio us. In the event of an emergency, you are to contact the Ragnarok - and only the Ragnarok - to carry out the failsafe. Keep an eye on the sky - if we have to, we'll send up a signal."

"I thought you said no magic."

"If it gets bad enough to bring the Ragnarok in, it won't matter."

**UNKNOWN.**

Irvine awoke in a convulsion as a weak Thunder spell ran down the metal stretcher he found himself bound to. The raw, nerve-searing stimulus forced his eyes open, but he saw nothing at first...and then, her. The one called matron - whispy, ethereal now, as perhaps she'd always been. Out there, by the wreck, she had looked so alive - so human - but he could see now she was no more a woman than Ifrit was a man.

"Do you like Matron?" Traline giggled, drawing her Guardian Force back into the darkest parts of her mind.

"Who are you?"

"I think she knew you in a past life. The other guy, too. Weird, huh?"

Other guy?

_Squall_. He'd been looking for Squall when the girl ambushed him.

"Where is he? What did you _do _to him?"

"He's fine, silly! Matron just thought you'd want to be alone to rest. That other guy's real mad. He's been pretty loud the whole trip. We had to Sleep him."

_Great_, he thought. _I'm chained to a stainless steel bedframe, the fearless leader is napping in the next room, and we're both being held hostage by a little schoolgirl._

"I'm kinda bored, now, though. Wanna play some cards?"

_A schoolgirl with a Triple Triad addiction._

"Uh..."

_Make this work, Irvine. Make it work._

"Sure. But I need my hands free to play, okay?"

The girl seemed to mull it over for about a second, tilting her head, biting her lip, copying a younger Selphie Tilmitt's mannerisms with such disturbing accuracy as to make him think she was some sort of doppleganger, a dark twin from another world...and then, she nodded.

"Okay! Let's play!"

**Team A, Centra Plains.**

Forty minutes into their trek, Selphie noticed a strange shift in the color of the clouds. Quistis' thermal scans came up hotter, too, as if the whole Centran territory had moved a few inches closer to the sun.

"Something's happening to the field. Zell, prepare to signal. Selphie - it's time."

The ever-reddening clouds merged in the sky, forming a single pillar of crimson fog that poured down onto the plains in the seconds after Quistis' order. The red mist carried a hiss through their ears, an undead drone amplified and sped up - the chant of a marching army. Swords clanged, sparked as they dragged along the rocky plain, and Team A knew at once what they were dealing with.

_Forbidden._

"Light 'em up!" Zell screamed, inching back as Selphie took point. A jagged, crown-shaped light grew out of her chest, climbed to her forehead, and exploded into the brilliant silver-steel of Alexander's metal frame. Channeled through Selphie, he mowed down the first wave of undead swordsmen like a shimmering-white cousin of Doomtrain, washing the second wave in holy light strong enough to cleanse the plains of fiendish beasts.

**Team B, Centra Plains.**

"What in Hyne's holy head was that?" Pilo shrieked, raising his binoculars a half-second too late to catch the fading shape of Alexander's silhouette.

"Was that the signal?" the team's spearman asked, as eager to leave now as he was to join the mission in the first place.

"Damn it, Arnel, you know it's not!" the rifleman grunted, raising his weapon as if he could somehow join the fight from so far away. "We're supposed to wait here unless we see a- "

"Fira! One o'clock!"

Sure enough, Pilo had spotted this one - struggling to rise, already half-faded, the exploding fireball shone just enough to stand out through a rushing wave of red haze.

"What the heck is that smoke, Pilo?"

"I don't know. It's...it's coming this way."

"Wha-"

"It's coming this way! Get down!"

Above the field of operations, the Ragnarok's skeleton crew could make little sense of what went on below. A reddish-brown whirlwind was sweeping over the plains, obscuring any signal flares or magic beacons, but the radio silence remained unbroken - an assurance to them, that despite appearances, everything was going according to plan.

**UNKNOWN.**

If Irvine was going to figure anything out, it was going to be through Traline Saltera, the spritely little girl that had captured two veteran SeeDs and had them locked up in a can sailing Hyne knows where.

"You seem to know rules unfamiliar to this region. Let's play a game with Shumi Village's rules and ours."

"Sure, sure...but, just out of curiosity, whose rules do you know?"

"Why, Esthar's, of course. Duh."

Esthar? We're going...to Laguna?

"Wait. Esthar...Esthar uses Random, right? That's a bit unfair. I don't want to lose any good cards on our first game!"

The game of cards was more than just a diversion from the abduction and his injuries; it was now part of Irvine's plan to reconnoiter. If Esthar had planned this attack, it meant Laguna was no longer in control, and he had no reason to expect any more backup beyond the guy locked up in the next room.

"What do you say we make a little wager? Make it worth my while to risk my good cards?"

"Ooh, a bet. Okay! What're we betting?"

"How about...if I win, you let me talk to the other guy you've got locked up, and- "

" - if I win?"

"...if you win," Kinneas began, mining that silly-but-charming drawl that won over so many hearts in G-Garden as he retrieved one last precious card from his front shirt pocket, "I'll give you this."

Less worn than the rest of Irvine's deck (he rarely played it), and awash in a peculiar shimmer that marked a custom Level 10 card, Selphie's card was almost too much for Traline to handle.

"How's that for stakes?"

"You're on!"


End file.
